


Memories of Old Mysteries

by WhiteWolfLegend



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (2009) RPF, Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows (2010), Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-11-25 15:27:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteWolfLegend/pseuds/WhiteWolfLegend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He thought her to be dead, as he tells Watson of her - Bella - his lost love, she is struggling with the decision of her past. Will he take her back when all is revealed or will he turn his back on her? R: M Sherlock/Bella</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Whimpers, I love Holmes right now and Robert Downey Jr. So anyways, I do hope you won't mind my lack of knowledge in the Holmes fandom seeing as it will be my first fic well crossover fic anways.**

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**3** **rd** **POV**

The lightning flashed across the sky as the rain poured down on the dark cobblestone streets of London. It was a chilling night, the wind blazing causing the rain to ice on the roads and walkways.

A lone figure dressed in black stood under an awning in the shadows, her eyes locked onto the prone form of her love, her Sherlock. She – Bella – could not hold back the sob in her throat as she watched her loves shoulders shake with deep sadness. Even over the pounding rain she could hear her love crying for her.

"It's for the best Bella, he is better off without you. After all, who would want such a foolish woman like you?" she whispers to herself sadly, her heart constricting in her chest; wincing as her healed wounds from the gunshots she had taken for him began to ache. They always did around this time, she didn't truly know if it was her mind reminding her or if they truly did ache, after all it had been five years since it happened.

"I love you Sherlock Holmes, never forget that. Maybe in time I will return to you my love." Isabella whispers as she turns away from her loves room, it had been five long years since her supposed death, but it was all for him; for her Sherlock.

Giving him one last final look she pulled her coat tighter to her chest and walked down to her destination. Her heels clicking against the stone, hoping her love never forgot her.

Sherlock Holmes sat in his room, the glass of whiskey swirling in his hands as he stares brokenly and blankly out the window. It was raining and he didn't know what to think of it, or what to do. He could see every little splatter of water as it hits the glass, hear every noise and creak in the house. His mind was racing like a bullet from a gun, thoughts and images racing though his mind.

His eyes landed on the date and he couldn't help but gulp the rest of the amber liquid before aimlessly tossing the glass to the side; watching as it began to fracture and shatter before his very eyes. It was what he felt like right now; a hollow man of what he once was shattered and broken.

Living in reality was something he hated, no he feared reality. Reality meant he was alone, that his love Isabella was gone; viciously taken from him by a murderer. Holmes had taken to other things to distract him from the pain, mainly drugs and alcohol. Nothing that would gain him addicted and too far gone, but enough to make him feel something different; oh how his love would be disappointed.

"Bella!" He cries, his shoulders slumping and shaking with the sheer amount of agony he felt. There was of no use of drinking himself to the bottom of the glass, no drug or alcohol could tear his mind away from his love. Not tonight.

Only when he was on a case, something he can put his whole mind too only then does he find solace; only then is he freed from his guilt and torment. After all it was his own fault that she had been cruelly taken by deaths hands; another cry of her name escapes her lips as he fiddles with the small box in his hands. He had dared not looked at its contents since he saw it, he was to ask her after they had finished the case they were on; but that never happened.

"Bella, Bella, Bella!" He cries once more, slumping forward in his chair as he tangles his hands through his hair. All the contents he once held only to fall on the stained oak boards of his room.

"Holmes?" the concerned voice of Watson filtered through the door before slowly creaking open.

It took Watson an hour nearly to open the door to see what his long life friend was so upset about. He had been like this for five years, never once able was he to make himself curious enough to ask what makes him woe around this time.

But this is the first time had he ever heard him cry a name, a name that always seemed to make him flinch when they came across it. No one but Watson saw the slight facial movement and with great surety he could saw that even Holmes himself didn't notice he did it.

"What is it John." Sherlock slurs, his head flopping back as he cast a disordered grin. Watson couldn't help but look at his estranged friend gobsmacked; never once had he called him that but in a teasing notion.

Holmes couldn't help but laugh flatly as he watched the good doctor inch in the door. He surely reminded him of a stray dog, wary of the world and of people. Though that thought wasn't there long as he saw Watson grab the only picture-graph of him and his Bella.

"Who was she Holmes?" Watson asks softly as he takes in the happy faces before him, the woman was beautiful and Holmes, well he was happy. Truly happy, he didn't have an ounce of the insanity on his smile unlike now and ever since he met him.

The rather large man stood in the shadows waiting, he knew she would come but how or why he would never know. The gold pocket watch gleamed in the light as he tisked, she was late as per usual.

"I have and never will be late Mycroft." The sharp amused voice of the woman startled him.

"Ah, my dear, you are very much like him you know." He tells her softly and somewhat sadly, the woman before him was a shell of once she was.

It had been a long time since he saw her, only about a year or two and she seemed to have dwindled into nothing. Her eyes hollow and flat, full of guilt and sadness so deep he didn't know where it ended.

He wish he could talk some sense into the woman, make her see that she was doing more harm than good to Shirley. But when it came to him and being in danger, well that was a different matter. It was five years ago, little over it precisely this woman had showed up at his country home bloody and barely standing.

_There was a chill in the air of the early beginnings of winter began, Mycroft was in the kitchen as he prepared a dish for supper._

_Food was important, always food. There was nothing better than enjoying a home cooked meal you made yourself._

_KNOCK KNOCK-KNCOK KNOCK_

_The sound of frantic knocking echoed down to the kitchen causing him to jump._

_"MYCROFT!" the strained voice of his little brothers love cries out, urging his feet to go faster he swings the door open and catches her as she falls. Her left arm was clung to her chest as the dress she wore was tattered, dirty and covered in blood._

_"Good gracious Isabella, what has happened? Where is Shirley, is he okay?" he asks calmly with as much bravery as he could muster. The fear in his chest clenched tightly at the state of his soon to be sister and at what had happened to his brother._

_"Myc, you need to help me…. Holmes is okay, he's okay but he thinks… He thinks I'm gone. Oh Myc, it's so horrible, they threatened if I didn't leave and stop working with him, to stop looking for them…. If I was still with him, they would hurt him Myc, THEY WOULD KILL HIM!"_ She wails, her body wracking with sobs and agony.

_Closing his eyes tightly he didn't know what to do, he knew she wouldn't change her mind; not with something as big as this. He didn't know what to do, should he keep a secret from his brother and help her or place him in danger and not help her. Oh his hands were tied; he didn't know what to do…. Either way his brother would be hurt, but with helping her; he will live._

_"I will help you and keep the secret, but let me tell you now, this is the worst mistake you will ever make." He warns her, quickly lifting her up and into the house._

_"I know My, I will never stop loving him. There's a note in my pocket dress, please, give it to him." She sobs out before succumbing to the pain. He worked quickly, getting one of his butlers or gentlemen to rush and fetch the doctor post haste._

"I know, I know it is a mistake; but one I cannot regret. He is my everything still, his little quirks and all." She breathes out, shocking Mycroft ever so slightly from his thoughts. He didn't know why what she did ever surprise him anymore; she was very much like Shirley.

"Let's go Bella; we shall see him again soon." Mycroft whispers to her, helping her into the carriage.

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**A/N: Well they will be short chapters, what do you expect from me. Anyways the first few chapter/s will be introductivly before Holmes begins the story, I will tell you when it switches to present.**

**E**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything twilight or sherlock related.**

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**3** **rd** **POV**

Holmes laughed bitterly, sadly as he yanked the image from the good doctor's hands. It was warn, from increased folding on his behalf; the image never left his jacket pocket over his heart.

Watson couldn't believe what he was seeing. He watched as his ever very calm yet slightly insane friend break down, the image falling to the floor like a leaf; landing near a small yet very distinguishable ring box.

 _No, he couldn't have loved her that much? Surely, this woman wasn't_ _ **the**_ _woman for Sherlock._ Watson thought to himself as he opened the lip to the box delicately; revealing a gold ring with a garnet heart surrounded by lilacs nestled in the middle. Carefully as he could he plucked the ring from the box and took note of the small engraving inside, how fascinating.

_'My heart is forever yours'_

"Her name was Isabella, Isabella Swan and she was magnificent…

_Memory…_

It was a particularly hot winter's day and everyone was in fear of the killer that was going around. This was Sherlock Holmes first major case and he wanted to make a name for himself and prove he wasn't a young lad with foolish dreams.

He looked down at the twisted mangled corpse of the woman. She was young, innocent and most of all, one that set every officer in the city in distress. This was the third victim in the last week, another officer's daughter.

The first one was Miss Mary Alice Brandon, the only daughter to Inspector Brandon and his wife. She was found in an alley near her home beaten to death and her eyes missing.

The second victim was found out in the country and like the first was badly beaten and her eyes were removed, she was Miss Eleanor Kinsley; the daughter to deputy sergeant Kingsley. He who after had found his daughter, drank himself to the bottom of a bottle and shot himself. It was a sad day for the force, not only losing their daughters – but of losing a friend.

The third one, Holmes thought this one hit the town and the police hardest; it was the commander's three year old little girl. She was found lying beaten on the fountain in the main square for all to see. Charles Swan was a good man and the only man left on the force who had daughters – daughter.

So far Sherlock has found more clues to the case, leading them closer to the killer. He – they – were very sure that they would catch the monster soon.

 _"I wish to go out father! I cannot be locked inside all day like a hermit!"_ a melodic floats through the breeze, catching Sherlock's attention.

 _"Isabella you know how dangerous it is for you! This killer is targeting daughters of the yard! I cannot lose another daughter!"_ the distinctive half Irish/British lit of Charles Swan boomed.

Looking around, Sherlock knew he shouldn't be here listening but for the life of him couldn't understand the pull to do so. Carefully he treads around the house, glad there were thick bushes to hide him from both the eyes of a neighbour or by the chief himself.

 _"You KNOW I can defend myself, you and Emmett both have trained me well! I do not wish to be trapped in this house going insane. You know my mind cannot deal with seeing and hearing everything! I cannot stay here and not hear little Renee's laughter!"_ She yells once more and her words instantly catch Sherlock's attention.

 _What had she meant of her mind not being able to cope with seeing and hearing everything?_ Holmes ponders before shaking his head.

The sound of slamming doors and stomping feet alerted him to move, that the conversation he shouldn't have been listening to had came to an end. Though he knew he should move and head back towards his home, 221b Baker Street. But yet he could not move, nor will his legs to cooperate. How could he when a beauty with hair the colour of deep chestnut climbed down from the window above, a satchel of books in her hand.

Her voice let out a squeak, his eyes widening as he shot forward and silenced her soon to be released scream. Sherlock couldn't help but grunt as he felt her left hand connect with his ribs with such a force to surprise him, he had never met a lady before even willing to give such a blow.

"If you would be so patient Miss Swan, I can tell you who I am. My name is Sherlock Holmes and I am working with your father." He states calmly, his eyes looking deeply into hers in search of fear or well, if she was truly going to keep attacking him. Removing his hand he couldn't help but smile at the glare he was receiving.

"I do not find it quite funny for being frightened nearly to death. I had thought you were the killer, but now that I know otherwise I apologise for the punch to your ribs, sir. But do you truly blame me Mister Holmes for hitting you when you are in my gardens and frightening me." She snips, standing and dusting her dress off.

Sherlock couldn't help but admire the beauty in front of him. She was as natural as a woman could be; he saw no paint hiding her face, unlike the other women in the town. Her eyes were deep and full of emotions, like windows to her soul; showing Holmes who she truly was.

"I am sorry for spying, I-I know it was highly inappropriate o-of me, but I couldn't seem to control my legs as soon as I heard your voice." He admits somewhat shyly, a soft blush colouring his cheeks. Isabella couldn't help but giggle before grabbing his arm tightly but soft enough for him to remove it. Looking up he couldn't deny the way his body reacted, how his heart seemed to miss a beat or two at the sight of her.

"It is okay, come with me to somewhere more private… I can trust you Mr Holmes, right?" She asks slightly more nervous now and he couldn't help but realise it was something that didn't sit right. The woman in front of him was a brave woman, one who wasn't afraid of speaking her voice and yet she was nervous.

"I can quite assure you Miss Swa-"

"Bella, call me Bella." She blurts slightly, moving towards the outer city.

"Well then you can call me Sherlock, Bella. I can also quite assure you I am not the murderer." he states, curious as to where she was taking me. Sherlock's eyes scanned and memorised every little detail, every sound and movement she and everyone else made. "If I may so inquire, where are we going?" he asks.

It was a rare thing for him not knowing where they were going or doing. "It is a surprise Mr… Sherlock." Bella corrected herself as she began to call him Mister Holmes, but his previous demand of her to call him that she couldn't refuse.

Soon Bella came to a stop in a small quart yard and then hastily and expertly began to climb the very large tree. Holmes was beside himself, he had never seen a woman so brave and brash as her. One who wasn't afraid of getting dirty or speaking her mind, he couldn't help but admire the girl.

"Are you coming Sherlock?" she calls from the highest branch, her hair swaying as she laughed.

Looking up he nodded, "Will be right there Miss Swan." He states before quickly but hesitantly climbing the tree. In a few short minutes he found himself at the very top, slightly heaving with much needed breath.

"I love to come up here, be lost in my own little world. It is hard sometimes when you feel like you are trapped in your own mind, when you are able to see every little detail and think of things many things. Especially now that my little sister is gone and my mind is free to think." She whispers, rubbing her head as she pulled a thick book from her bag. **_'Astronomy'_** was written across the thick hard bound book.

"I have the same problem, it is easier to manage when I am on cases but when I am alone; do I truly think I am mad." He partially shouts, his hands grasping the tree in nervousness as he began to seem to slip and sway in the breeze.

"It is refreshing to find a mind like my own, so tell me Sherlock; tell me what interests you." She asks, truly honest of the question. She wished to know Sherlock and he was slightly wary of it, but with carefree smile he began to launch in their favourite topics.

They talked all day, laughing and sharing knowledge. Both not even realising as the sun began to set and the breeze began to cool. Not until the street lamps were being lit.

"Oh good gracious, father should really be furious of me. I didn't realise it was becoming late, it surely was a pleasure of meeting you Sherlock; maybe again we can do it again." Isabella states as she packs her books and began to climb down from the tree.

Sherlock followed her, happy to realise he was thinking of her and everything they spoke up instead of the case or other maddening things. He felt normal.

"That would be a pleasure Bella, may I accompany you home?" he asks, holding his arm out for her to take. Bella carefully looked down at the waiting elbow and took it with a smile, she was nervous of walking home especially now that it was dark; but then again little Renee was taken in the day.

"Yes you may, but I do believe father with be mighty cross. I do hope you won't be scared off or removed from your duties as a detective, Sherlock." She tells him, her voice worried.

Sherlock couldn't help but laugh and began to walk back towards the Swan home, he knew Charles Swan was going to be furious; but as soon as he sees that his daughter is fine he will be considerably calmer.

As they walked in silence, they took the time to finally take in one another. Sherlock couldn't help but detect the fresh scent of apples and bread, the way her hair moved softly in the breeze and frame her face.

Isabella was in awe of Sherlock; his mind was unlike any other she has ever come across. He was smart, strange with a keen sense of adventure. He himself like her were a mystery, no one knew their minds, well till today. He was handsome, very much so, with toned arms and glinting brown eyes and smelled remarkably like gunpowder, tobacco and something sweet she couldn't describe.

"ISABELLA!" the angry voice of Charles Swan drew their attention away from one another. Both were surprised to see they were indeed standing in front of the Swan home, too distracted by each other.

Charles Swan was frantic with worry; he had gone up a while a go to check on Isabella for supper only to find her gone. He was frantic, needing to find her but he couldn't leave his wife alone for a second since the death of little Renee. So he waited in the pallor, his feet quick as he paced the small room.

He didn't know what could have happened to her or where she was, maybe the killer had taken her too. After all little Renee was taken in the daylight and this worried him. When the sky grew dark he was ready to just leave and search for her, as he finally gave up on staying home he looked out the window to see his Isabella and Sherlock Holmes locked in a staring match.

Anger swelled in him more, mixed with relief as he thundered outside. "Isabella!"

He was happy she was safe and was with someone who could protect himself; after all he had seen the boy fight and seemed to be pretty well.

"Father!" Isabella yelped startled as she looked at him, her hands shooting out from Sherlock's.

"Get inside young lady!" he ordered, his eyes locked on the boy who was still staring bashfully at his daughter.

"But father!" Isabella tried to plead but the sharp look her father gave her she knew the battle was lost, sighing she turned to Sherlock and gave him a quick shy full peck on the cheek.

"Thank you for the company today Mister Holmes, please do stop by again if my father allows it." She tells him before walking back into her home.

Sherlock raised his hand up as the burning in his cheek remained from where her warm lips met his cold cheek. It was the first time a woman had ever kissed him, even if it was a modest friendly yet brash thing.

"Holmes, I must thank you for accompanying my daughter but do remember she is the only one I have left." Charles states with a hard fatherly look, he couldn't be mad at the boy. It was the first time he had seen his daughter truly happy and the first time where Sherlock Holmes actually looked like the boy he was and not so calm and demure.

Looking up at him Sherlock couldn't help but look back down with the sensation of a blush on his cheeks. "I do apologise Sir, we had gotten carried away getting to know one another and lost track of time; I assure you I will not let that happen again… or without your knowledge." He rushed out honestly as he saw the hard look upon the commander's face once more.

Giving the boy a stern look Charles nodded slowly, "Good, you may come to supper tomorrow if we can make it. I will see you in the mornin'" Charles bids goodbye as he turns and walks back into his home, a slight smile on his face as he saw the delightful smile on his ear dropping daughter.

Sherlock smiled as he waved goodbye to Bella who watched from the window and began to walk back to his home. His mind replaying through every word that was uttered from her lips today and every little detail that went to them.

Oh he was happy, maybe he had met his match in the beautiful Isabella Swan and he couldn't wait to know her more.

_End memory_

Watson couldn't help but look at Holmes in astonishment. There was a soft smile on his face and a glint of joy in his eyes as he told the tale of his first case and meeting of Isabella. He couldn't help but marvel in the tale and emotion as he spoke.

"You are the first person I have told of Isabella. No one but my brother remembers or knows her now; it is a sad miserable reality I face." Holmes whispers darkly, the joy gone as a sour look replaced it.

"Her father?" Watson asked carefully.

"Dead."

Holmes jerked his head as screams filled his mind, the deep accented baritone of Charles filling his mind.

"Holmes? Are you okay?" Watson asks worried as Holmes leant forward, his hands gripping his head as he shook.

"Yes." He lies looking up at the good doctor. "Please leave Watson, I will tell you more tomorrow… I need to tell you more, someone else needs to remember her." He finished off in a whisper before standing and stumbling to his bed.

Watson stood and carefully made his way out of the room with a heavy heart. Mary was waiting for him, but he couldn't leave Holmes.

"Is he okay? You were up there for quite some time." Mary whispers worried as she sees the torment on her fiancé's face.

"No, my love is it okay if we stay here for a few days? I need to hear what Holmes needs to say and then… I am not so sure." Watson trailed off worried, his eyes shooting to the door above.

"Yes, I do believe we can stay. What is wrong, is he okay?" she asked quite sharp.

"He lost his love." With those four words Mary's face softened and grew into one of understanding. She never knew that Holmes had a love, someone he dearly cared for but she knew the feeling. Before John had come along, she was in a state of great mourning over the loss of her former fiancé.

"Yes John, my love, we can stay. For as long as he needs us, we can stay." She whispers, placing her hand on his heart.

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**A/N: well there is the first meeting, I do hope I am somewhat capturing their attitude right.**

**Please Review**

**E**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Disclaimer: I Do not own**

**A/N: I do hope you are enjoying this so far, even if it seems to go on.**

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**3rd POV**

Holmes woke up the next morning with sweat clinging to his skin. He had a fitful night dreaming of old memories and mysteries. It started off with Bella and he lying in the field during spring, the hill was golden with colour and they lay laughing, their hands intertwined between them. It soon turned into a nightmare of ghastly images, the time he found his Isabella in the snow. The night he lost her forever, it all blended in and tormented Sherlock.

A knock at the door causes Holmes to get out of bed, his body aching and head pounding from the alcohol he drank mere hours ago.

"Holmes, can we come in." the concerned voice of Watson filtered mutely through the wooden door.

Scratching his chin before running his hand through his hair, Sherlock opened his door and stared at the good doctor and his fiancé.

"John, Mary." He greets tiredly before moving to sit back in the chair, staring out the window. The storm from the night had calmed but the rain still poured down.

Watson and Mary share a look as Holmes turned his back to him. There was no witty comment about her presence or the fact that Watson had brought her. Mary worried placed her hand on John's arms and stared up at him with worry, he had explained the story to her and his actions. But she couldn't believe it, she couldn't believe that the rude, insane man had ever had loved. But then again, it could be the reason why he was the way he was.

"The case was going well, but Charles and my fear grew with each day…." He started, drawing the attention of them. He knew they were worried for him, he could hear their nervous movements, her sigh of sadness. Mary had pitied Holmes and he couldn't find it in him to care as he drifted off into the memory. He could still smell the damp streets and the fresh breads baking from a neighbour.

_Memory_

Holmes had left his home on 221b Baker Street, his bowler hat pulled down to hide his eyes. He had been called upon Charles Swan to come to his home at once, so with great fear and joy he had left immediately.

After returning home the night he and Isabella talked his mind went into overdrive recounting everything and had gotten little sleep. He wanted to know all he could about the beauty who had captured and snared him.

So far he knew she loved to paint by the flecks of colour were stained on her dress and a fleck of green pain was on her hands.

She loved to read.

Her favourite colour was purple, deep purple but the ribbon she had in her hair and tied to her wrist.

Shaking his head he decided to walk the few blocks it as to their home. His heart clenched with fear that maybe they had captured Isabella and she lay dead somewhere or he was inviting him over for something else. Sherlock surely hoped it was the latter as he was excited to see Isabella again

He could hear people begin to stir in their houses getting ready for the fast approaching day. The birds chirped their morning tunes and those who were on the streets hurried along. Sherlock's eyes thought straight ahead could see every detail around him and locking onto those that his mind deemed important.

"Ah there you are Laddie, right on time too; as per usual. Come in; come in before you catch your death." Charles ordered from the doorway into his home. His grin wide and eyes sparkling with emotion that Sherlock could describe as joyful.

The smell of fresh bread, bacon and other treats wafted down to his spot at the base of the steps causing Sherlock to realise he was hungry, without another invite he stepped forward and began to follow Charles inside.

The home was quite delightful, a vast difference between both his homes and here. There was a touch of everyone who lived here in each room and looked bright with joy and emotion. Unlike his dank, cold home on Baker street and his boyhood one.

"Ah, Mister Holmes, I am glad you accepted the invitation to breakfast. I do hope eggs and toast is acceptable with bacon as well." Isabella spoke from the kitchen door; her eyes alight with a gleeful hope and innocence. She was also worried that he might not like her culinary skills, but she could not bake and cook like her grandmother, no matter what her father says.

"Ah Miss Swan, what you have suggested sounds wonderful." he says politely, in truth it sounded delicious but he had not been told of the breakfast invitation, only that he was needed at the household.

Isabella knew he was lying about something, and she knew as she saw Sherlock's shoulders sag ever so slightly and the slight eye twitch towards her father did she know that he was not told of his breakfast plans. "Well best come and get some before it gets cold."

Charles and Sherlock followed Isabella hungrily towards the kitchen, the table set with four plates. They both took a seat while Isabella hummed about gathering the food and placing them on the table.

Charles looked down at the small plate next to him, Little Renee's favourite and sighed. "Sweetheart, is there a reason why you placed Little Renee's plate at the table?"

The words froze Isabella on the spot, her eyes narrowing on the small plate of her little sister. A sob rose in her throat as she realised she didn't remember placing it there, only that it was done normally.

"O-Oh, I-I-I'll put it away." she stutters out, tears pooling in her eyes as she placed the plate of eggs on the table and picked up her sister plate, after placing it in the cabinet she quickly excused herself to her room; unable to hold her tears at bay.

Charles and Sherlock shared a sad look before turning their eyes upwards at the sound of a heart wrenching cry.

"I should go comfort her." Charles whispers, but Sherlock stood first. "No, if it is okay with you; I will."

The sentence came out nervous and worried, he didn't know if it was the best thing to do considering. His daughter was innocent and they were not courting, so his request to her room would be improper.

Giving the boy a flat look Charles relented, recalling the way he made her smile yesterday. "Fine, the door is to remain open and you must stay by it or the window. I trust you Laddie but…" he trailed off; the words need not to be explained.

Nodding, Sherlock left the room and headed up the steps, he didn't need to know what door Isabella's was because it was the only door wide open, her frame on the bed shaking.

"Miss Swan?" Sherlock tried to gain her attention, but to no use. "Bella?" he tried again and her head looked up at him instantly. Her brown eyes bloodshot as her face stained red with hot tears.

She instantly stood up embarrassed and began to wipe her face furiously to scrub away the tears, only to break down once more as she couldn't.

"I am so sorry for you to see me like this Mister Holmes, normally I am more in check of my silly emotions." She let out an apathetic laugh.

Holmes heart twisted as he stepped forward his hand outstretched. "No, your emotions are not silly. They are very much reasonable and you need to shed them to grieve. Do not class your pain silly for they are not." He quickly told her.

Isabella looked at him thought bleary eyes, his face was one of sincerity and it comforted her. "I am next you know." She whispers woefully.

Holmes felt a flare of determination and the desire to protect her flared up in him, he will do not matter what it takes to find this killer. He didn't know what it was but he didn't want her to get hurt, or be hurt anymore.

"I promise I will find him Isabella. No matter what it takes I will find him to keep you safe." Sherlock swears causing her to rush over and hug him. He didn't know what to do and he hesitantly wrapped his arms around her and rested his head on hers.

The hug lasted a total of five seconds before she pulled back and apologise. "That was too brash of me, I apologise Sherlock."

Clearing his throat he smiled at her, "It is quite right Miss Bella. Now, if you feel well for it, you made a wonderful breakfast; would you like to accompany me back down?"

Isabella smiled softly and nodded. "Yes, I do apologise for breaking down like that. Let's go eat." She apologises once more before gesturing him to leave first.

Sherlock nodded before giving her a little bow and exiting, he couldn't help but notice the clutter of books on the shelves near the window and the vast amounts of trinkets. It was surely a clutter of a mess but very much organised.

"Ah, that didn't take too long." Charles states happily from the kitchen table, food already on his plate and half eaten.

"I do apologise father, now what shall become of me in your absence?" Isabella asks simply as she sat down gracefully across from Sherlock. She had begun to eat as she waited for her father's orders, maybe he was sending some of his men to baby sit her.

Glancing at his daughter he fidgeted, he didn't know how she would react to the news. "I am sending you to…"

Isabella inhaled sharply, her eyes blazing with rage. "I am and will not EVER go back to Aunt Victoria's."

"Now, now Isabella it would be the…" he was once again cut off by his daughter's anger.

"I said no! Send over a few of your men to baby sit me, but I refuse to go anywhere near that woman and her delinquent son and drunkard of a husband!" she hisses, her hands slamming on the table.

"Now, now Isabella, your mother and I have raised you to be polite and not point out such things." Sherlock knew instantly as he watched her body tense that what Charles had just said was not the right thing to say.

"I refuse to stay with them, I refuse to take back my words for they are the truth and you told me to always speak the truth. If you will excuse me Sherlock I will see you another time, it has come to my knowledge that you and my father need to leave. Good day." She snips before turning on her feet and leaving the room.

Charles sighed and looked at the lad before him, "do excuse her, now it seems she is right though; we must take out leave to be in the place you suggested by time."

Pulling he pocket watch out he checks the time, and true to the word it was time for them to leave. Holmes has suspected that a henchmen of sorts was going to be at a pub in a fairly bad part of London and was knowledgeable of where and who the murderer was.

The streets of London were clear of people, only those brave enough to withstand the cool bone chilling breeze were out and about. Carriages moved slowly down the street, careful not to lose control.

"We best be quick Holmes, I need to send a few men to my home. Lesson be learned lad, my Bella is stubborn as a mule and a temper to boot; just agree to what she says and it will save you a lot of trouble." Charles chuckled as he told Sherlock about his daughter's personality, though it was still young he could already see that the lad in front of him was somewhat smitten with his daughter and they both share the same bizarre mind.

Sherlock nodded in response, his eyes scanning everything as he moved towards the large police office. He could hear people mulling about once more, the clip clop of horses feet as they trotted down the road with the clanking of the wheels. Snow crushing and water rushing, everything was rushing in.

 _Oh no…_ Holmes thought as he paused and clenched his eyes shut, he forced his brain to calm; to stop the wretched thing it always did. It was his darkness, his curse.

Suddenly his body was spinning, hands pulling his away from his eyes. Looking up he saw Charles, his eyes one of understanding.

"Laddie, when you see my Isabella next; get her to teach you." He uttered before looking up at the man behind him. "Lestrade, I need you and two other men to go and watch Isabella at my home. Make sure she stays safe."

The man nodded before grabbing the two closest officers and heading off towards where they were instructed to go. They were worried; more worried what Charles Swan would do to them over the loss of his daughter.

Sherlock looked at his pocket watch and began to walk towards the pub he had deducted the killers top henchmen would be. He was openly aware that Charles was behind him, following silently with other men from the force.

"I need you to surround the pub and its exits. There is a basement door there by the barrels of moonshine and there is another door behind the pub hidden in the darkened crook. He will try and take one of those, if not he will jump from the top window down into the canopy before falling to the ground." Sherlock states, his eyes locking on to all the possibilities.

He knew what he needed to do, a smirk pulling at his lips as he casually walked towards the doors of the pub. Plucking a worn hat that was discarded by a drunkard after being tossed out so late last night or earlier this morn and placed it on his head, covering partly his eyes. Taking a deep breath he began to slouch and wobble slightly. He needed to act dunk or close to it after all.

Sherlock wasn't surprised by the amount of people in the small dingy lit pub, some he concluded that they had been here for a long while.

"What can I get for you." The harsh voice of the woman asks.

"Scotch," Sherlock mumbles out, his speech slightly slurred.

In the dusty chipped mirrors on the wall in front, he could see people looking at him with interest. Though, it was the man who sat in the far corner with the shadows easily covering his body; but could still be seen. Cringing Sherlock drank his drink and placed the money on the bar before stumbling up and over to the man.

His eyes locking onto the slight weaknesses that could be seen, there was a scratch on his left side as well as a nice forming bruise being slightly hidden under his collar. He was also favouring his right side; in conclusion he was injured and can be easily be rendered unconscious in various amounts of pain.

He let out a laugh as he stumbled down onto the man, his hands sinking into the pockets and grasping the paper he saw him writing before.

"Watch out!" the man yelled, shoving Sherlock away.

"Uh, uh… not till you tell me where your boss is." He laughed once more, sliding into the chair across from him.

The henchman stood, his eyes wincing as he stood tall. Sherlock couldn't help but smirk as he let his eyes go unfocused.

_First distract target… block blind swing, counter with sharp jab. Break cracked ribs, block wild haymaker. Discombobulate, dislocate jaw, and block quick jab; finish with strong kick._

_In summary: chest heaving, internal injuries possible, ears ringing…. Physical recovery: slim. Full psychological recovery if survived: Twelve months._

Holmes blinked and threw a glass towards the man; doing everything he had thought mere seconds before. The man flew back as he landed a kick in the stomach, the man landing across the room and slamming into the door. No one dared to help the man, no one dared to even breath as they watched the stranger walk over towards the fallen drunkard.

Leaning forward Holmes pulled the drunkards face closer by the collar. His voice dark as he asks his question, "who is your boss?"

"Like I-I-I'll tell you…" the man let out a laugh, blood splattering from his lips as he wheezed. Holmes furious lifted the man up and slammed him into the wall.

"Tell me who he is, tell me why he is doing this?" he asks sharply causing the man to laugh once more.

"Sm-Smitten you are… Sha-Shame it will b-be too late to sa-a-ave her." With that Holmes eyes widened in horror, the man slipping from his grasp quickly.

 _No, no, she was supposed to be protected by the men…_ he thought quickly before racing out of the pub, his eyes wide and mind racing. Why did he care? What were these emotions he felt?

"HE HAS HER!" he screamed towards Charles as soon as he saw the man's face.

_Memory End,_

Watson and Mary sat stunned as Sherlock trailed off in thought, the story stopping at a crucial point. They knew it was not the true death of Isabella; it was just the beginning of the story.

"I thought you said only you and Mycroft remember, why not Lestrade?" Watson asks curious causing Holmes to face him.

"Watson, how old do you think I am?" it was a question he wasn't expecting. One that confused him as he knew Holmes was much older than he.

"About middle forties I dear say." This caused Holmes to laugh; he knew he looked old; _felt old._ But in fact he was younger than that, just a year older than Watson himself.

"I am only thirty-three old boy," he chuckles causing them to freeze and stare at Holmes shocked.

"But…" Watson trailed off, not bothering to finish the question. Mary understood though, losing the one you love aged you quite a bit. It didn't help that – from what she was told – he abused substances and alcohol.

"I know. Lestrade's father was who I speak of. It is also a reason as to why I dislike this one after what happened that day. It was after all his fault for the kidnapping of Isabella… But first dear Watson we are in need of lunch, tea and other sorts. Shall we?" Holmes states calmly, his eyes blank as he gestured to the door.

Mary and Watson shared a look before nodding, they too were hungry and even though they wished to hear what had happened they needed to eat first.

"Okay, then you will finish this story."

* * *

**A/N: I know it seems to be going on, after how he rescues Isabella will he tell some loves stories of them together and then the last case they had.**

**Ellie**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**A/N: Hope you all are enjoying it.**

* * *

**3** **rd** **POV**

Sherlock was back in his room, his mind relaying old memories of his love while Watson and Mary continued to have lunch.

He was intended to join them but he couldn't after the ashen face of Isabella crossed his mind. IT was the first time he had seen her so broken and fragile, he was there when they found her in the sewers of London on deaths door, he heard it all and it took all sheer willpower to not remember her screams.

_Tick tock tick tick tock. Clutter below, china clinking together, fire crackling, children laughing, clip clop clip clop…. Shhh Holmes it will be okay, yes, that's it…._

Sherlock opened his eyes wide as the soft voice of his love whispered in his ear, her brown eyes flashing before his very vision and he was no longer in his room but in their tree. Her hands on his face as she sat very close to him that her breath fanned across his face; he could still remember the scent of honey on her breath and the feel of the breeze in his hair.

_"Listen to my voice Sherlock, shhh, now listen to the steady beat of your heart or the wind in the tree… let that guide you, let it tune out… Yes that's it, relax Sherlock, relax…"_

Suddenly the world was silent once again and… the voice… the voice he longed for went with it. Standing abruptly he moved towards the cabinet, his hands skimming over the many vials and cases. Hands searching for the substances that would surely ease his pain and hopefully bring back her voice…

"She wouldn't want you to do that because of her," Whirling around he saw Mary, her eyes filled with worry.

"It's not because of her, she… it was because of the loss." Sherlock mumbles out, snatching the satchel of cocaine from the shelf.

"Is it really, think Mister Holmes, the loss is because of her." Mary whispers, stepping hesitantly towards him and placing a hand over his.

"I miss her so, I am sorry for the way I have been towards you and Watson; but in my eyes he is leaving me too." He trails off sadly, looking away from the woman after his confession. Mary was shocked at this, after all he was nothing but rude to her, but that wouldn't be Holmes otherwise.

"I now understand, tell me what was she like? Before you tell us the rest of the story, I want to know what she was like." Mary told him, moving towards where the framed image of them sat, the one John has fixed and picked up for him.

Holmes knew she was right and with much difficulty he chucked the satchel down and moved to take the image from Mary. His fingertips stroking the outline of her face gently, he remembered this day well.

"She was a great mystery, one I had yet to figure out and took great pleasure in finding more about her each day. Like how she loved to bake, blueberry pie was her favourite so when they were in season she baked it constantly." He chuckled after placing the image gently on the mantle.

"She was a sweet woman, not afraid to speak her mind or hit me if I had become an egotistic fool. She had a heart of gold always placing others before her, she was also very intelligent, more so than myself." He said softly, a slight smile on his face.

"She sounds like a wonderful woman." Mary breathed in awe; she had never met anyone than the man before her, nor a woman who had ever put Sherlock Holmes in place.

"Yeah, she truly was…"

"Mary? Holmes?" Watson's voice from the door startled Mary, her hand flying to her heart as it raced in fright.

"Good gracious John, you frightened me!" she scolds him softly before smoothing out her bodice.

"Ever punctual Watson, shall we continue?" Holmes states pulling the pipe from his jacket and lighting it once more.

Watson nodded before taking the seat he took before, his eyes on Holmes the whole time.

"It was after I ran from the pub in panic and screaming they had taken her did my life fully change…"

_Memory,_

As the words left his lips in dread, Charles paled three shades as he took off towards home, two officers following them as they ran.

Sherlock cursed the snow as he slipped several times before reaching the Swan home to see Lestrade sitting on the steps with his head in his hands. The two officers he took with him dead around him.

"What happened?" Charles yelled as he picked Lestrade up by the collar.

"I, we came, I don't know…" he chokes out and Sherlock couldn't help but look at him closely, his eyes were red of course, hair ruffled and there was a substantial stain on his jacket. Stepping closer he sniffed, the overwhelming scent of tobacco was present but it couldn't mask the scent of whisky.

"He's drunk." Sherlock spat before racing to the broken front door. There was a large footprint on the door, size 10 by the looks of it.

Stepping inside his eyes scanned the mess in the room, books were scattered and a china set was shattered on the floor with tea staining the timber. Bending down Holmes pressed his finger into the liquid to discover that it had cooled considerably.

Looking around he saw the ribbon from Isabella's hair discarded on the floor, a few strands still tangled in it. Blood was smeared on the walls and stairs as well as fingernail marks. Scuff marks from shoes were all around the pallor another sign of struggle.

Sherlock stood, his eyes flickering over the damage, things highlighting as it began to form a story in his mind.

_The door kicked open, splinters scattering, china dropping as Isabella screamed. Feet are scraping and kicking, escaping from arms as she ran to the steps; her cries echoing the room. Her fists hitting the man, knocking him back into the end table of books – scattering them. Her eyes wide, as the kidnapper slices the knife through the air and cuts her. And then finally as he rushes forward and knocks her unconscious, dragging her though the door._

Sherlock watched it all before him and he couldn't describe the feeling inside, a feeling that has only began to show since he first heard Isabella.

Turning on his foot he scanned the doorway, the smudging of dirt across the door was somewhat familiar. Moving forward he leant in and sniffed, it was an odd smell, both horrid and somewhat tangy.

"Holmes." Charles called almost brokenly from the bottom of the steps.

"She was taken by force, but it wasn't without effort. She put up a good fight and had hurt him considerably. In the end, the brawn won." Holmes states calmly as he walks down the steps and to the gate, following the drops of blood.

Cocking his head to the side ever so slowly he could see the slight covering to the sewer and water systems below slightly lifted. It wasn't much, but enough for Holmes to notice.

Looking up and down the street he couldn't be too sure that it was due to inspections or something else. He needed to test the dirt back in his rooms before making assumptions of the matter. But due to the sudden disappearance of Isabella - and during the day no matter - it made his mind quicken and do something he has never done before, he guessed.

_Memory interrupted._

"You guessed!?" Watson blurted out, unable to hold his tongue as he heard his very eccentric friend say something he was sure never to bear witness too. Because Sherlock Holmes never guessed, it was such a brash decision and very impractical.

Sherlock levelled the good doctor with a hard stare. He wasn't too fond of being interrupted, especially when it came to his Isabella.

"Yes I guessed, I guess when you start to care for someone your mind does brash things. This case dear Watson is also the reason as to why I started to distrust the Scotland Yard." He clipped before diving back into the story.

_Memory,_

Moving quickly Holmes pulled the hatch back and looked down into the darkness with blank eyes. Humming, he looked back over towards where the officers were and where Charles was yelling at the man who – because of his incompetence – may be the very reason for the loss of his daughter.

The question was where was Mrs's Swan when all of this was happening? Frowning he let out a whistle to gain the attention of the men before making his decent into the darkness. He could hear the scattering of rats as they scampered out of his way, as well as flowing water and other excrements. Footfalls followed him, both heavy and light and he knew Charles was following him along with another officer.

Holmes followed his nose; he knew that where whoever took Miss Swan was surely in the sewers where there was something like tang in the air, old fruit by the smell of it. Oranges. Also by this fact Holmes knew that not a few corners away was a store that sold an abundance of them even in their off season where they would rot and be thrown into the sewers below.

"How do you know where to go Holmes?" Charles asks in a whisper as he followed the boy, his heart constricting with worry and great despair. He couldn't understand how this happened or how his wife for that matter wasn't home when she should have been.

"I am following various signs that lead me to believe they took her down this way. The dirt on the door smelled considerably bad but had a tangy scent to it, the same scent of rotting oranges." He replies back normally and emotionless.

Sometimes Charles thought Sherlock was an odd boy; it down right infuriated him at how emotionless he could seem. But he could not be mad, for there was an air of a boyish innocence around him; under the lock and key of the façade he places.

"I am worried." It was soft but Charles knew he heard it and it somewhat calmed him.

A scream so terrifying one so full of agonising pain echoed faintly in the dark, dank tunnels that it caused the three men to pick up their speed.

" _Please stop!"_ the plea of Isabella echoed followed by a smack and a cry of pain.

 _"Why are you doing this? WHAT HAVE I DONE?"_ she cried again, her voice more clear but meek.

"Because you are so innocent, so pure and safe behind your fathers constant guard. It was so easy to take you; perhaps he doesn't love you… After all he sent a drunk and two _boys_ to protect you." A deep voice chuckled before digging his nails into the soft flesh of the girl before him.

"Such pretty eyes you have." He purred as he leant over the girl, his left hand trailing up her side and over her bodice. "So innocent you are, maybe I should keep you as a bed warmer."

The sound of someone spitting caught Sherlocks attention, they were so close now and yet so far away. It seemed they circled the room they were in a few times and it agitated the detective.

"You _little bitch!"_ the man roared before flinging his fist into the girl repeatedly, each blow causing her to scream and cry out.

"Sherlock, here!" Charles cried as he found a latch on the wall.

It was in that moment the world seemed to slow as another cry filled the air after the very distinguished sound of a gunshot firing. Holmes was overcome with rage as he barrelled into the room to see a man grinning, a gun in his hands as he stared down at the mass of flesh, blood and material.

_First, dodge shot, Two: throat; paralyze vocal chords, stop scream. Three: grab arm, twist to the right and pull over shoulder, breaking elbow. Four: finally, drag in left leg, fist to patella. Physical recovery: six weeks. Full psychological recovery: six months. Capacity to hurt Isabella again: neutralized._

Holmes shot forward, his body quick and effective by taking out the opponent, no, the man who had kidnapped and abused Isabella.

Charles watched with awe and horror as Holmes took down the man before him with rapt attention and effective moves. It took a total of mere seconds for it to be over that he was sure if he blinked he would have missed it.

Shaking his head he raced to his daughter, his eyes refusing to take in the damage as he holds the wound; ordering the young officer to fetch help. Sherlock breathed heavily as he watched the man fall before him, his eyes turning quickly as a strangled sob left Charles. Holmes couldn't help but be frozen in horror and pain. Her body twisted in awkward angles, her face was broken and blue from the blunt blows to her face. She was bleeding profusely from the wound in her stomach that he was scared she might die before he could know her more, to court her.

He couldn't help but stiffen at the thought, Sherlock Holmes was known back home to never court a lady nor had the thought to ever cross his mind.

"D-D-Daddy?" she whimpers as she felt soft comforting hands on her and the familiar scent of old spice and tobacco.

"Shh Isabella, help is coming it's okay." He whispered, his voice cracking from the sobs he held at bay.

"Y-Y-You found m-me." She stutters out painfully, her eyes still closed and breathe shallow.

"Yes sweetheart, Holmes found where you were taken." He whispered soothingly.

"Sh-Sh-e-r-lock?" she breathes out in pain her closed eyes searching for the said man.

"I am here Miss Swan." He replied calmly, taking all his willpower not to let his emotions show and rule him.

"B-B-ella!" she hissed angrily before coughing, her body wracking with spasms. She knew she was dying, of course she was. A gunshot to the abdomen as well as being badly beaten by fists and other objects.

"D-Daddy, I–I-I'm not going to make it." She cries, clutching her father's hand.

Charles sobbed as the words registered in his mind, it could very well be true. He had seen plenty of men been shot and none of them live. "Sh, you'll be okay, you'll be okay Isabella."

"L-L-Liar!" she spat somewhat playfully before coughing once again.

Holmes didn't know what to do, his emotions escaping his minds hold on them. He was filled with grief; he knew it was grief as he had felt this emotion when his mother passed.

"Sh-Sherlock…" Isabella whispered, holding her hand out for the man she has come to begin to care for. It was an odd feeling, she was not unaccustomed by male affection but it was a first for her to find someone on the same brain level, someone who understands her struggle.

Holmes fell to his knees beside her, chest clenching with fear as he saw her begin to turn an ashen colour. Taking his jacket off he swiftly placed it over her, ripping some already ripped material from her skirt and handed it to Charles; silently telling him to press it on the wound.

"Such a shame…" she breathes in a mumble. "For me to die when-when I-I found my equal. I do b-believe… believe… I have started… to… t-t-to care for you M-M-Mister Holmes." She sighs out, her body wracking with coughs and waves of pain.

Charles had heard his daughter and watched the boy who was silently looking down at her with torment, his cheeks stained with tears and he knew for sure that Sherlock didn't know he was crying. Huffing he couldn't take it anymore, help was becoming to slow and as the time ticked by it was drawing close to his daughters end and be damned was he letting another one die.

Grunting, he lifted his daughter in his arms and held her close. He could see Sherlock wince as another cry of pain echoed the room. "Sorry sweetheart, I cannot wait for help. Sherlock hit him again for me to be sure; I will send the men down when we reach help."

Sherlock did as he asked and with a quick swift of his hands he shattered what was left of the brutes kneecap. The murderer wasn't going anywhere sometime soon, being unable to walk and if he were to manage to get up, he wouldn't get far.

Nodding to himself he followed haste after the woman and man, his minds buzzing with thoughts and worry.

"Take a left." Holmes shouted as he saw Charles faulter at a fork. Without hesitating he saw the man do as he said, it was a quick route to the hospital, only a few more blocks to go.

The sound of her cries filled the silent, along with the huffing of the man before him, struggling to run and carry his daughter.

"Give her to me; I will look after her while you go to fetch help. The first sign of light you see will be the exit, go up and you will see yourself at the hospital. Hurry Charles, you will get help faster than I." Holmes admitted as he caught up with the man.

Charles hesitated but did as Sherlock suggested, he was right, if he himself were to fetch the doctors they would move with haste unlike they would if it were a mere boy. Holmes wasn't young perse, age wise he was a man but he was still young, mere twenty-two.

"Look after my baby girl." He whispered before carefully transferring her into Holmes arms and taking off.

Isabella knew she was being held by the young detective, his scent was only him. She couldn't help but burry her head into his neck, letting out a whimper as the swollen bruises and cuts on her face stung.

"Shh, it will be okay, you will be okay." Holmes whispers softly, praying to whatever god that would listen to spare here from the clutches of death. He was selfish to admit, from keeping her from the pearly gates and in his life.

"I regret… not knowing… you better." She strains out, causing Sherlock to sigh in agreement. "And I you."

"Maybe if I survive, we can… can… court." She whispers, her voice fading. Holmes stood frozen, his heart clenching in panic as Isabella went limp in his arms. Her head lolling back and arm falling from the wound she was pressing against.

"Isabella! Isabella! STAY WITH ME!" Holmes shouted as he began to run towards the place he told Charles to go, his voice screaming for him in haste. He couldn't lose her; he couldn't lose this remarkable woman in his arms.

_Memory end,_

Holmes jerked in his chair, his mind stopping the memory instantly as it began to blur and fade.

"I don't quite remember between then and when she woke, I just knew that she was okay and the murderer was in custody. I didn't leave her side while she was in a state of deep rest, a coma you see from the trauma. The doctors said she was lucky to be alive and they were now just hoping she would wake." Holmes states blankly, the scenes blurring together, he remembered not knowing when one day began and the other end.

"I read to her, told her stories of my family. Told her my small cases before taking the case with Scotland Yard." He hums, eyes looking over to a weeping Mary.

Watson was stoic, very much surprised of the news she lived. From what Holmes had described not only was she shot in the stomach she was badly beaten to the point she could not see nor move without pain. He wished he could have known this woman, this brave, strong, patient woman.

"Watson, you need to take Mary home. I do believe she has had enough for tonight, I am going to the boxing ring to… to clear my mind." Holmes states, standing in a fluid motion; pipe still in hand and left.

He couldn't help but chuckle slightly as he held his sobbing fiancé. Only Holmes would go to a boxing ring to fight in a means to clear his mind, but it also knew he would be drinking a considerable amount of alcohol.

 _Oh Holmes…_ he thought sadly as he lifted Mary from her chair. He knew something bad was going to happen soon.

* * *

**A/N: you need to remember that Holmes is a little OOC because of I am making that the now Holmes (one from the movie) and his attitude, the 'death' of Isabella was the reason for his break. Make sense?**

**Ellie**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**A/N: So how did you like the last chapter? This one is gonna have flashes of short memories and then his telling of a memory to Watson and Mary.**

* * *

**3** **rd** **POV**

Sherlock was considerably drunk or very close to it, his chest was heaving and body full of adrenalin. His hands ached and so did his body from receiving and delivering blow after blow to and from the opponent.

He was tired and distraught. He needed to release the emotions he felt and what better way of doing it while drunk to a stranger in a ring earning money?

 _"Why are you doing this Holmes?"_ the sad voice of Isabella whispers causing him to falter in step, letting his opponent land a blow to Holmes's face, sending him spiralling into the dirt with a grunt. The familiar rust taste of blood filling his mouth instantly as he let it pool in his mouth before releasing it onto the already blood soaked dirt.

Normally he would be in his room plucking away the strings on the violin but, it wasn't truly his. It was his Isabella's last gift from her father, he swore to keep it.

Another grunt passed his lips as he felt the solid kick to his abdomen, his back colliding with the wood from the force. Followed by more kicks and punches, he couldn't get up for every time he tried to breathe, he was hit.

"GET UP SHERLOCK!" the voice was muffled by the cheers but he knew it wasn't in his head. Hardly anyone called him Sherlock anymore.

His body jerked and he stood, his ribs aching and eyes scanning the crowed. But he didn't see her, how could he? It must have been a figment.

"FIGHT YOU GOBDAWE, FIGHT!" the voice screamed once more from a new angle, the familiar curse echoing in his mind.

_"God Sherlock, for a brilliant man you are a Gobdaw." Isabella states with a huff, pulling her hand from his._

_Looking at his love he couldn't help but raise his brows in question, "Gobdaw?"_

_"Foolish man, idiot." She huffs once more before walking again._

Shaking his head from the memory he quickly made work of the man before him. His movements though sluggish were precise and in a few swift moves his opponent was on the ground; unconscious. The crowed was wild, blurring together as he felt the sharp pain begin to take over and cloud his mind; on top of the alcohol.

Isabella watched sad from the rafters, her face concealed by the cap. She was dressed in men's clothing, much larger than her own form to hide her features. Isabella knew her fear had just alerted Holmes that she was alive, or that maybe he was hallucinating. But when he didn't get back up the first time she used the insult she and her father called him in times of foolishness.

Those words made him quickly get up and take down his opponent. Isabella dropped down from her crouching place and into the throngs of people as she watched his eyes scan the people. Throwing all caution to the wind, she pulled the hat down over her eyes and making sure her hair was tucked neatly into the cap before going to help her love.

Her body buckled slightly as he collapsed against her, his words slurring together a mumbled thanks. She could tell instantly he had broken ribs and possibly a fractured arm, she couldn't help but let out a string of curses. When it was safe for her to return to him, she will surely give him a mind full.

"Aye Lad, Holmes usually stays up in the room when he fights." The tender asks, handing her a bunch of money and a bottle of booze.

"Thank you." She grunts as deep as she could.

"You need to help me help you up the stairs." She grunts to her love as she struggled to hold him up still. Thankfully he obliged, and she had little difficulty getting him into the room.

"You look familiar." He slurs, eyes narrowed as he hazily gazed at her.

Holmes knew the person in front of him, there was something familiar nagging at him but as the pain came too much he couldn't put effort into thinking.

"Just a lad lending a hand," Isabella mumbled as she began to look around the room. She needed to help him, bandage his ribs and splint his wrist. Huffing, she knew she would have to go to the doctor. She couldn't be more thankful of Mycroft in finding the good doctor; she knew he was going to be good for Holmes.

"You stay put, I will be back with Doctor Watson." She mumbled before leaving the room in haste.

Sherlock gazed around, his mind whirling with questions as he pulls the bottle of whisky to his lips and gulps some. Though, how did the lad know to get Watson?

**~XxX~**

Watson was fast asleep in his bed, his fiancé safely tucked into his side, when the resounding bang echoed thought he house, startling him awake.

His eyes scanned the room instantly, thinking he was back at Baker Street with Holmes shooting at the wall or some experiment gone wrong. But when he saw he was at home and the banging was from the front door he rushed out of bed quickly, dread settling into his stomach.

Bleary eyed he swung the door open to see deep brown eyes filled with worry, a gleam in them that he has only seen in Sherlock's.

"Doctor Watson, you need to come quick. I am afraid that Sherlock is in a great deal of pain. He is at the Bowel boxing rink in his usual room." The man before him states worriedly and quick, it was odd for a lad to have such a soft melody for a voice. But he took no mind in that as he quickly ran to his room and changed, giving Mary an explanation before grabbing his bag and ran out into the night air.

"How bad?" He asks the lad jogging next to him.

"Broken ribs, fractured arm; maybe a fractured collar bone." The boy listed off swiftly that it made Watson look at him in slight awe.

The rest of the way they ran in silence, only stopping when Isabella stopped, her eyes flat as she said a silent goodbye for not to her love.

"Watson?" She called, causing the man to stop and turn to her ever so slightly. He was impatient needing to give aid to his friend; he needed to make sure that Holmes was okay and not in any imminent danger from the blow he took tonight.

"Tell me later please, I need to see if he is okay." He mumbled and began to open the door.

"You're a good friend to my Sherlock, Watson. I-I'm glad he has you." With that she was gone in the darkness.

Watson froze, the words echoing and registering in his mind. Spinning on his foot, he looked around the darkness as everything clicked into place.

The gleam - the voice; how well he or she described the injuries and the worry. "Isabella?" Watson whispered in the darkness before shaking his head.

 _Don't be foolish Watson, Isabella is gone or Holmes would know otherwise…_ he thought to himself before quickly racing up the stairs.

Taking a deep breath he opened the door, unsure of what he was going to see. Though he was mildly surprised to see Holmes lying still with half a bottle of whisky in his hand and not up and about doing some thing or rather.

"Holmes, what happened?" Watson sighs out with a roll of his eyes, letting his doctor instincts kick in.

"Always good to see you, Watson." He mumbles looking up at the good doctor with hazy eyes.

"I would say the same, old chap but it seems you are worse for wear." He chuckles while kneeling and getting out bandages from his bag. Quickly he ran his hands over the sleuth's ribs and cringed, indeed he had broken ribs. His eyes trailed over his collar bone and saw no substantial damage so his collar bone wasn't broken or fractured. He quickly propped Holmes up and wrapped his ribs rightly so it would be easier for him to breath, unfortunately it would be hard for him to move for a while.

"It seems you have fractured your ulna and radius bone, old boy." Watson states as he carefully probes his friends wrist.

"Such a mother hen." Holmes chuckles. "I heard her."

It was so soft, but Watson heard it. "Heard her physically or mentally?"

The question caused Holmes to look carefully at the good doctor with a frown, "Mentally old chap, of course I wouldn't hear her physically she's gone. Don't be so foolish." He snaps.

Watson shook his head ignoring the insult, "what did you hear?"

"She asked me why I was fighting, I froze." He finishes with a frown, "Then I heard her screaming at me to fight. She called me a Gobdaw." He chuckles, wincing a little at the pain.

Watson's brows shot up, he knew what the word meant as he had a fellow soldier in the army who had called him and a few others that.

"She called you foolish?" Watson chocked out in a laugh.

Groaning Holmes through his good arm across his face, "It was what she called me when I did something silly, _foolish."_ He stresses, knowing that he would be called that constantly now.

"Now this I must know." Watson laughs as he leans back in the wooden chair. Holmes sighs, grunting as he tried to sit up. Cursing at his broken ribs he gently flopped back down with a wince.

"Well old boy, it seems, I have a story to tell."

_Memory,_

It was the beginning of spring and flowers were blooming once more, Sherlock was walking towards the Swan home quite uncharacteristically nervous; a bouquet of daisies in his hand tied with purple ribbon.

He was going to finally ask Isabella Swan to court him and have her father's blessing.

"Sherlock! What a surprise!" Isabella's soft voice carried with the wind from the porch. She was still pale and sickly so, her body frail. She had been released from hospital a week ago and she was slowly starting to look like herself again.

"Isabella, you look beautiful as always." He told her with a smile, like always. Isabella's cheeks flamed red as she giggled slightly, she knew that she was sickly looking but the compliments were honest from his lips, they made her happy.

"I brought these for you Miss Swan." Sherlock states with a grin, bowing swiftly and holding the flowers out to her.

Isabella smiled as she took the bouquet of flowers from his hand and inhaled. "And what do I owe the pleasure of these?"

"Well, I thought -"

"Ah, Sherlock my boy! What a pleasure to see you here, though it doesn't surprise me." Charles bellowed happily as he saw the young detective on his front porch. Though he may be old, Charles knew they were smitten even if they couldn't truly see it for themselves.

"Ah, Charles, it is good to see you again." Sherlock states in his usual calm tone, a soft red in his cheeks as he glanced down at Isabella.

"So my boy, what brought you to our home?" Charles asked sternly, trying to hold back the smile.

Sherlock looked at Isabella before staring right at Charles, his eyes catching the slight quiver in the corner of his lips and the spark in his eyes.

"I have come to ask permission if I could court Isabella." He states calm, back straight and eyes unblinking.

Charles raised a brow at him in silence, he was going to say yes, but he liked to test Holmes at any chance he got. It always surprised him how well the deductive skills Sherlock used was able to find the littlest things and come to finding answers.

Sherlock waited in silence, his eyes taking in the man's face before him and Isabella's. one showing nothing while the other waited anxiously.

"Father! Please would you answer him." Isabella demanded, her eyes tight as she glowered at her silent father, she wanted to know the answer and because she couldn't see his face; she couldn't see what he was thinking.

"My answer is yes." The booming voice from the corner startled the three from the silence.

"Emmett!" Isabella cheered as she saw her eldest brother.

"Bella, dear sister you are looking better than what you wrote to me." He said softly, his dimples showing as he smiled down at her.

Blushing she held her hands up for a hug, it had been almost two years since she had seen him and he surely had not changed at all.

"I missed you!" she sighs as he wrapped her arms gently around him. "I missed you too."

Emmett let go of Isabella and turned to look at the boy she had been writing about, he was surely different to what she described, but then again Isabella always saw more in people than what normal people would.

"My answer is yes, after what you did for my sister, my answer is yes. But, if you dare hurt her, I will find you and do far worse than what you will ever see." He states with a pointed look.

Sherlock looked up at the behemoth man with slight awe, he was not intimidated but he nodded anyway. The man would seem somewhat intimidating to others of small stature, nearly six feet and seven inches with a wide frame that would surely be door width.

"Understandable, I have no intent to harm Isabella in anyway. How anyone could do such a thing is beyond any knowledgeable reason."

Emmett looked at him with sharp eyes and nodded before smirking and slapping Holmes on the back, "Good. I am Emmett Swan, it is a pleasure to finally meet the boy who had saved my sister and captured her interests."

"Emmett!" Bella gasps horrified at her brother for spilling her desires. But she was pleased that Emmett approved.

Charles chuckled as he watched his two children argue before looking at Sherlock. "I give my acceptance, the threat Emmett made applies to me as well."

"So Son, what brings you back to London?" Charles asks with a smile as he pats his son on the back and leads him inside.

"Ah, I got the letter from Bella. She wanted me to meet…" the conversation drifted off as they walked deeper into the house, leaving Sherlock and Bella together.

"I am quite happy you asked Sherlock, I was getting quite upset you took so long." Isabella giggles before raising her brows at him.

Smiling, Sherlock bows his head in apology, "I am quite sorry Miss Swan, I was trying to find a right way and time to ask. Asking for permission to court ones daughter is completely new to me and I was unsure on how to ask." He also wasn't going to tell her he was following people to see how they asked or spoke.

Isabella looked closely at her Sherlock, catching familiar facial twitches and the very familiar emotion in his eyes.

"Mister Holmes, you have been sleuthing. Using your great deduction skills have you for little ol' me?" she asks dramatically before breaking out into giggles.

Smirking at her, Sherlock nods unashamed. "Why yes Miss Swan, very good at using your own deduction skills."

"Well Mister Holmes, if you would be so kind in helping me into the house I would greatly appreciate it." Isabella asks her hands out in waiting for him to help her.

"Why it would be my pleasure," he chuckles, gently lifting her up and helping her in side. Her arms wrapped around his waist as she placed a kiss on his chin as a thank you.

"If you would like, you can stay for tea, I am sure my brother and father won't mind." Isabella states with a soft smile making Sherlock smile and nod.

"I would love that."

_Memory End_

Watson smiled at his friend with fondness; it was amazing to hear the tales Sherlock spoke. Especially that speaking of his Isabella brought out a side he rarely sees or has seen.

"What is so amusing Watson?" Holmes asks as he saw the slight twitch in the doctor's lips.

Letting out a hum he smiled, "I just can't imagine you bashful or even remotely the way you were telling me, it is just something I cannot see."

Levelling the good doctor with a flat look he shrugged, he can't deny the fact that he himself has been remotely that way since… since well the loss of his love. He learnt not to let emotions show or get close to anyone, John Watson was the only one he had let somewhat into his solace and become brothers almost. Holmes couldn't deny that he cared a great deal about Watson and now, now he was leaving.

"Thank you for patching me up." He hums after several minutes of silence, his eyes closed and covered by his arm once more.

"You are welcome, how that lad came about in finding me is beyond my knowledge." Watson chuckles standing.

Frowning slightly, Holmes thought back to the boy who helped him. His mind was foggy from the pain still and it bothered him, but how exactly did the boy know where to get Watson or to get him at all.

Matter of fact…. How did the boy know where to hold him and check for injuries…?

Sitting up quickly, ignoring the jolt of pain his eyes wide with shock and disbelief. The boy wasn't a boy at all.

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**A/N: *Gasp* well now, maybe I decided to move the story along somewhat.**

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	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**A/N: Okay, so my roll for this story stopped completely and I have decided to keep writing so don't worry! I wrote myself into a hole but I think I can write out of it. Please be patient with me :)**

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**3rd POV**

Watson shot forward quickly as he saw Sherlock shoot up off the bed, stumbling as a cry of pain escaped past his lips.

"Holmes, slow down, lay back down." Watson urged him as he tried to get the struggling man back onto the cot.

Holmes shook his head wildly as he feebly fought against Watson, his hands pawing at the clothes as he tried to shake the pain and fuzziness from his mind. The boy and Isabella's face blurring in and out of his memory as he struggled to recall the moments after the fight. "But… That boy, he was too… no, it was a she… I am sure of it." Holmes mumbles out confused.

Watson shook his head as he finally got Holmes to lie down, he knew something was odd about the boy but it surely was a boy. "No Holmes, it is your mind playing tricks. It was indeed a lad, now rest your body needs to heal. It wasn't Isabella." Watson ordered in a tone that left no room for arguments.

Sherlock nodded before his eyes drifted closed, soft brown eyes hovering over him with worry before disappearing into the darkness.

Watson stood and removed his jacket, after witnessing Sherlock's mind fracture in duress caused him to worry. He knew that Sherlock was in a lot of grief due to the memories of Isabella, but this was new. He knew Holmes heard Isabella's voice in dire need but to mistake people for her, especially another gender was… _or was it?_ Watsons mind thought as he recalled the boys parting words.

Shaking his head Watson opened the small hatch window, his eyes catching a movement in the dark before shaking his head and sitting down on the chair; placing his feet up on the table and began to get comfortable.

Isabella stood outside the rink, her eyes locked onto the small window of her loves room. She was so foolish for revealing herself to the doctor but hoped with his worry over Sherlock he would not place two and two together. Though the threat to her love was out there she could not hide from her love anymore.

Shaking her head she pivoted on her foot and ran, her feet taking her to a place where she had hidden her clothing and little trinkets. She had been wandering for quite some time now and had recently returned to London; her heart longing for home. Looking around, Isabella quickly stepped into the shadows and changed quickly into the dress she had placed into the suitcase.

"Well, well look what we have here." A leery voice called from the ally mouth as she stepped into the light. Isabella turned her head and sighed as she saw two drunkards stumbling before her.

"Leave me be, if you do not then you will suffer." She replied with a tisk as she smoothed her bodice.

The men cast each other looks before both charging at the small woman, not noticing the small metal baton in her hands until they found themselves on the ground groaning in pain. Their eyes shooting up to the woman in shock as she let out a laugh and casually stepped over their forms.

Isabella chuckled as she left the alley, frowning only when she saw the damage to her dress that one of the men caused as he fell. Her sleeve was partially torn and the skirts of her dress were ripped, there was – at this time – to find a tailor as it was late at night and she still had things to do before day break.

Shaking her head once more she quickened her pace towards 221b Baker Street, she would have to reveal herself to one person tonight after her task was completed. When the building came into view Isabella quickly moved around to the back, her eyes locking onto the open window of her loves room before searching for ways up to the second story.

With a sigh, she jumped onto the rotting timber before pushing up with her legs and clasping the edge of the building where the lip came out. Shuffling over she climbed up the drain pipe before latching onto the windowsill and hoisting herself inside. A laugh escaping her lips as she saw the cluttered but much organised mess of Sherlock's room. It was odd to see that he had taken onto her cluttered habit since her supposed death while she herself took on his neatness.

Loosing herself in the moment she trailed her hand over some of his things, frowning at the empty bottles and shattered glasses near the window.

"Oh Sherlock my love, what have you done to yourself. You were never this bad of a drinker." She whispered into the darkened room.

Mary frowned as she heard a soft thump coming from Sherlock's room. She had made her way to Baker Street after John had left in worry; she knew that when Holmes was able to move that's the first place they would go. Grasping the fire poker by her side she softly crept her way to the door and as quickly as she could throwing the door open.

Her eyes were locked onto the shocked and heaving woman with shock as she took in the face before her. The fire poker dropping from her hands in the process as the name she had been hearing about for the last few days spilled form her lips in shock.

"Isabella?" Mary blurts as she steps forward with wide eyes, causing the woman before her to jerk back.

"You can't tell Sherlock." Isabella states defeated and in panic. "He cannot know that I still live, it will be the death of him. He cannot know just yet Mary."

Mary stared still in shock, only her name falling from the woman's lips did she break from her spell. "You know my name? That means you have been keeping a close eye on Holmes…" She trailed off as she sat on the closest chair, a frown marring her features. "What do you mean 'it will be the death of him?"

Isabella's shoulders sagged at the question; she knew she would have to explain. With a sigh, she sat in the chair across from the good doctors soon to be wife. "Has he told you of the case yet? The one I died in?" she asks, causing Mary to shake her head.

Isabella sighs before standing once more. "Then I cannot explain but to tell you this. When the time comes for that tale, remember that in the moment of my death I had escaped and hidden very injured and ran to Mycroft, Sherlock's brother. That case was not what Sherlock thought it would be, there will be a moment in the tale where I had disappeared from his sight for no more than half an hour, in that time a man had found me. He told me if I and Sherlock were to continue the case then he would be killed." She trailed off in a whisper, looking down at the flames before her.

Mary's heart broke as she listened to the reason why Isabella had to do what she did; it was something only one would do for someone they truly loved. Isabella's body stiffened as she felt the other woman's arms wrap around her comfortingly, an action she was sad to say grew unaccustomed too.

"What will you do now?" Mary asked as she pulled back.

Isabella extracting herself from the woman's grasp pulled out a daisy with a purple string attached to it and placed it softly on the mantle in an old vase. "I must be on my way, please do not mention my sighting with the good doctor or Sherlock."

"Where will you go?" Mary asked concerned.

"Somewhere," was Isabella's reply as she traced a finger over the image of Sherlock and herself. "What is he like now?" she needed to know, she needed to know desperately.

Mary was surprised by the question but moved to stand by the woman. "He is manic almost borderline delirious. He was downright rude when I had met him, assuming I was a harlot when he saw the band line from my first fiancé who died. But I can see he is a caring man, he cares for my Watson and I know even though he drags my love into the worst cases, he is fearful of the harm that would come to him." Isabella's heart clenched as she heard what her love was like now, her mind asking if when they could be together again, would he ever forgive her?

"What was he like?" Mary asks; bring a smile to you young woman's face.

"Oh he was an introverted man but yet very coy. He always brought me flowers when we courted, daises and lilacs." Isabella smiled fondly at all the memories.

"He was a man that was my equal in every way and so charming. There was always a smile on his face when he saw me; he looked at me like I hung the very moon." She giggled causing Mary to laugh in return; it was a look she knew too well. "He was my first love and I still very much love him." It was a whisper but Mary had heard it.

"Then stay and see him, stay and make him see you are okay." Mary tried to reason with Isabella to no avail.

Isabella sighed and turned away from the woman and the picture, "I cannot, I need to leave now the sun is rising and come hour your fiancé and my love will be stumbling through the doors." With that she was quickly striding to the window, casting one last look at the pleading woman.

"Please, please Mary I beg of you to not let Sherlock know I am alive. What would you do if you were in my position and John in his?" She states before dropping down onto the rotting timber and disappearing into the slowly fading darkness, leaving Mary to think of her words.

Mary waited in the small room of Sherlock's, her eyes flickering to the clock. Exactly an hour went past when the echoing sounds of her fiancé's and Sherlock's voices wafted through the door. How Isabella had managed to calculate the very time they would come in was surprising the very least.

"AH! Mary!" Holmes piped with a slur from her fiancé's arm.

"Mary? Have you been here since I left home?" John wondered as he caught his fiancé in his chair.

Standing she moved out of the way as John moved Holmes to his usual chair, the scent of whisky, sweat and something else invaded her scenes. "Yes, I was worried and came here knowing you would be here first."

Sherlock sniffed and stiffened as his eyes shot to the mantle, a small little daisy sat where it hadn't sat before. A fading scent of lilacs and honey clung to the fabric that was his chair. "Isabella was here, she was here. I can smell her perfume and that daisy wasn't there before, it was her favourite flower." Sherlock slurred loudly as he stumbled out of his chair and to the mantle.

"Oh… I... I put that there and I don't smell any perfume but my own." Mary stammered out causing John to look at her with a frown. He knew she was lying; it was the only time she stammered.

Holmes shoulders sagged with sadness, his lip quivering with it as he held the tears at bay; something very uncharacteristic of him. "They were her favourite flowers. Daises and lilacs, I got them for her nearly every day. Whether it be, one or a bunch, I always had flowers for her." Holmes confided as he placed the daisy back in the vase, fingering the petals tenderly.

"Tell us how you lost her." Mary asks softly as she sat back down on the chair, Sherlock's pained eyes shot to her before nodding.

"Yes, I will tell you. I need to tell you." Sherlock replied as he looked back at the daisy once more. "But for now, shall we get some breakfast?" he suggested in his usual manic way before striding with a limp out the door.

John stuck his head out as he saw Holmes hobble down the stairs and into the kitchen, a first for sure that he has seen before turning back to his fiancé. "What are you not telling? I can smell the perfume and I know you didn't place the daisy." John mentions as he keeps and ear out for Holmes.

Mary bit her lip as she smoothed her skirts once more, she was nervous. She knew she wasn't supposed to tell them but Isabella only mentioned Sherlock's name at the end before departing. Her heart was twisted in two on what she should do, lie to her husband and keep it a secret or tell him and possibly destroy Sherlock Holmes?

"What is it Mary?" John asks concerned as her pulled her into his arms, tears glistening in her eyes as she thought herself to be in Isabella's shoes.

With her shoulders sagging in defeat she looked up at her love, she was here John." It was a mere whisper but John had heard her.

His body stiffened in shock as he looked down at his fiancé with wide eyes, "she is alive?" he breathes causing her to nod.

"She made me promise not to tell Holmes. His life is in danger John, what am I supposed to do?" Mary cries softly as she felt ashamed for even thinking of telling Sherlock out of her moral views.

John's memory of the boys parting words flash back, the soft eyes so full of calculation; carrying the same gleam as the detective.

 _You're a good friend to my Sherlock, Watson. I-I'm glad he has you. The_ words circled his head once more as the eyes and face morphed into the woman in the picture. It seems Sherlock is not the only master of disguise nor is he ever alone. She was always there keeping an eye on him, watching him from afar.

 _Oh Isabella, you suffer a much painful heartache than Holmes…_ Watson thought before gesturing to Mary to follow him down into the kitchen and pallor; if they kept Holmes waiting he would become suspicious and then all of Isabella's hard work could possibly become undone.

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**A/N: so sorry for the long delay, I hope you don't mind the slight change of plans.**

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